


What's Better Than This? Just Guys Bein' Dudes

by Justonebigbee (sunlight)



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Massage, Pre-Canon, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 03:54:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10779042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunlight/pseuds/Justonebigbee
Summary: Kent's shoulders hurt. Jack gives good massages.





	What's Better Than This? Just Guys Bein' Dudes

**Author's Note:**

> Because of my ridiculously sore shoulders, this almost became a self-insert fic where Jack gave a shoulder rub to “Y/N.” A suggestion from [Lis](https://www.des-zimbits.tumblr.com), who prompted Jack giving a backrub in the first place, lead me to writing Jackparse instead. At least I can live vicariously through Kent! 
> 
> Thank you to all the buds for your help in forming this fic, especially [Camille](https://www.samwell-womens-hockey.tumblr.com) for putting up with me editing the google doc as you were beta-ing.

Bob is standing there, waiting for them at the baggage claim when they land in Montréal. Kent wasn’t expecting him here, not out in public. No one seems to be making a big deal out of it, though, so either no one has recognized him, or Bad Bob is surrounded by enough plainclothes security members to keep any curious onlookers at bay. Somehow, it’s probably the first option.

Jack is pulled almost immediately into a big, all-encompassing bear hug. Kent stands back from them, lets them do their father-son thing in peace.

He glances around, taking in the sights that Trudeau International has to offer. A squeeze on his shoulder isn’t out of the ordinary, but when he turns to see Bob’s hand rather than Jack’s, he’s surprised.

“Hey son,” Bob greets. “It’s wonderful to have you visit us up here!” He pulls Kent into an approximation of the same hug that Jack had received just moments before, only Kent’s body is about ten thousand times stiffer. The feeling of a hockey legend squeezing your guts out doesn’t get any easier the second or third time it happens, it seems.

Bob ushers them outside, and he follows behind the two to wherever it is the car is parked. His mind isn’t there with them, at the airport, in Montréal. It’s miles away, back in the air on the plane, stuck on the feeling of Bob’s thick fingers wrapped around his shoulder, verging too close to his neck. The press against the tense muscles felt like a sweet drink of relief. A few bad hits at their most recent game had left him sorer than ever.

They arrive at the car, and Kent crawls into the back seat, still paying no attention to Jack and his dad. Are they talking in French? Kent doesn’t know.

He looks between them, Bob and Jack, their similarly chiseled jawbones, the hair color mirrored across between the two front seats—aside from Bob’s smattering of grey hairs, which only serve to make him look even better, if you ask Kent.

The image of the grab and resulting hug in Kent’s mind morphs at that, and suddenly, Jack is squeezing his shoulder, relieving him of the soreness he’s been dealing with. He imagines it. They’re back on the plane, and Jack notices Kent rubbing at his neck. Offers to take over. His hands are suddenly everywhere, all over, they’re squeezing and rubbing and pulling at his neck and shoulders and—

“Kent?” Bob asks. Jack’s turned around in his seat to look at him, eyebrow upturned.

“I’m so sorry,” Kent shakes his head, realizing he missed the moment where they brought him back into the conversation. “I must have zoned out, can you repeat what you said?”

“I just wanted to check in,” Bob says, waving a hand as if to wave off his apology. “We’ll be home pretty shortly. I know it’s late, so in case you boys wanted to go straight to bed I made sure to set up the guest bedroom.”

“Uh,” Jack cuts in. “I kind of… thought Kent might stay in my room?”

Honestly, Kent hadn’t really considered where he’d be sleeping. But it goes without saying that he’d choose the bare floor of Jack’s room without blankets over a king sized mattress any day of the week. Of course he’d rather be in Jack’s room.

“We’re used to it, after all,” Jack continues. “Being roommates on the roadies.”

\--

Bob grabs an air mattress out of a hallway closet on their way into the house and drops it off at Jack’s room. With another clap on Kent’s shoulder, he says goodnight and leaves them on their own.

It’s quiet. Kent didn’t know how quiet it was going to be. There aren’t any other sounds in the house; Alicia had gone to bed before Bob even left for the airport, apparently. And it’s quiet because there aren’t other boys in the next room, partying and drinking and smoking weed and yelling.

It’s just the two of them.

Kent lays out the air mattress on the floor but doesn’t go to inflate it yet. Call it wishful thinking, or maybe just stupidity, but he’s trying to figure out if he can fall asleep in Jack’s bed with him rather than sleep on the ground. At least for tonight.

They still haven’t said anything to each other. Kent rolls his shoulders a few times and gives them each a light squeeze before escaping to the bathroom. The _ensuite_ bathroom, because of course Jack has one attached to his bedroom.

First thing’s first; Kent needs to get ahold of himself. This shouldn’t be weird. He’s hung out with Jack tons of times on their own.

He takes a few deep breaths and tries not to imagine Jack back in his bedroom. Has he taken off his shirt to sleep yet? He’s slept shirtless before, but Kent has no idea what Jack’s ideal circumstances are for it. Could he be blessed with the sight of Jack’s pectorals tonight? With the sight of...oh god, his nipples?

Kent wants nothing more than for Jack to grab his shoulder, his neck, just like Bob had earlier. Jack’s deft fingers, his thumbs, the palms of his hands rubbing and pulling and squeezing and kneading, pressing lower than his back, under his pants and around the front.

Fuck.

He takes a deep breath, cracks his neck once more, and returns to the bedroom.

“What did you do to your neck?” Jack demands of him, breaking their silence.

“It’s, uh, not just my neck,” Kent says. It’s everywhere. _Especially my dick._ He averts his eyes as he gestures to his shoulders and general back-area, trying to look anywhere but Jack’s concerned gaze. “And I’m not sure. Maybe, slept on it funny?”

“I told you to see a trainer if you were sore, Kenny.”

“I—”

“Take off your shirt.”

The amount of times Kent has imagined Jack saying those very words...and now they’re here.

“I’ll give you a massage,” Jack continues. “Lay down.”

Here they are. Jack telling, nay, _demanding_ , that Kent take off his shirt. Under very different circumstances than all the times he had pictured it. Jack is _very platonically_ giving Kent a _platonic bro massage._ A Brossage.

Kent follows the instructions, ripping away his T-shirt and laying face down onto Jack’s bed. He’s extremely aware of the way Jack’s knees press into his bare side, the touch just maddening enough to tease him but not enough to satisfy, to press into.

Kent hisses when Jack’s fingers touch the skin of his back. It’s colder than he imagined, which he quickly realizes is because Jack coated his hands in lotion before starting. So it’s one of _these_ massages.

The way Kent had imagined it in the brief moments between Jack telling him to take off his shirt and Jack’s fingers actually touching his skin was very different. He’d pictured Jack’s rough, callused hands, working over his back for 30 seconds, rubbing out a knot or two before calling it quits.

“Oh,” Jack says. “I should’ve warmed the lotion. Sorry, Kenny.”

Jack spreads his hands like two fans wide on Kent’s back. The lotion starts to warm up, and the way it allows Jack’s palms to glide across his back is like no other feeling. He lightly palpates along, before he’s asking Kent to identify the problem spots.

“Well,” Kent starts. “I think I took a bad check at the last game, so my neck and shoulders, mostly.” That’s the truth. “But my lower back could, um, also use some attention.” It _could_ but it doesn’t need it as much as his upper back does. He’s just hoping Jack will slip his fingers under his boxers, press against his _lower_ lower back.

Jack fixates on Kent’s shoulders, much to his dismay, but also, sweet baby Jesus it feels good. One of Jack’s hands is in a fist, knuckles digging into him, but the other follows along, smoothing and soothing out behind.

“Kenny, you’ve got so many knots on your shoulders,” Jack says after a while. “You’re so knotty.” Jack laughs at his own joke before continuing. “Hey, this _is_ meant to hurt a bit, but if it hurts too much just let me know and I’ll stop.”

Kent is determined not to make Jack stop. It hurts, definitely, but the pain feels good. Like it’s just a necessary thing to endure to get to the pleasure. And oh boy is it pleasurable. So much so that he finally lets out a gasp he’s been holding in when Jack’s knuckle digs particularly deep. He knows that his face immediately goes red, and it’s a good thing he’s pressing it into a pillow already, because he definitely doesn’t want Jack to see him like this. Kent’s had a semi since Jack told him to take off his shirt, but the pain is doing things to him, making him harder than he expected.

“It’s okay if you make noise, you know?” Jack says after a few moments. “Helps me know if it’s...good for you or not. My parents won’t hear, haha.” Jack doesn’t laugh this time, but he does say “haha” out loud, which is just as endearing as his real laugh.

And _hell_ if that doesn’t sound like something Jack might say during sex, something direct and clear, asking Kent to make noise, be loud if he wants, even. This was already going straight in the spank bank, but now he even has dialogue to go along with it.

Jack switches up from the incessant kneading pretty soon after and starts doing chopping movements all along Kent’s back. It’s almost ticklish, and Kent lets out a giggle, feeling emboldened by Jack’s encouragement of noise.

It’s then that Jack swings his leg over Kent’s back and plops himself down right on top of Kent’s butt.

“Is this okay?” Jack asks. “I just want to be able to reach your spine from a better angle, and this is the best.”

Kent, feeling devoid of words completely, nods furiously. He’s rewarded with the feeling of freshly lotioned thumbs on either side of his spine, pressing in just the right way. Jack rubs circles as he follows along and it’s the best thing Kent’s ever felt.

Finally having Jack’s hands on his lower back brings more heat to his face and his groin. He’s glad he asked for attention here, even though it wasn’t particularly sore to begin with. Jack’s hands dance along his waistband, not pushing beneath it, but pushing the band out of the way slightly to reach more skin.

It’s all Kent can do to keep himself from grinding against Jack’s mattress. It probably wouldn’t go over too well, getting off while his bro gives him a brossage. But then again, brossages probably don’t last this long, do they? Bros don’t sit on each other’s asses. Bros don’t get hard when they touch each other. Maybe it crossed out of the platonic zone when Jack sat on top of him.  

Maybe… Maybe Jack is hard too? He’s awfully silent up there, after all. If Jack flipped it up, tucked it under the waistband so it’s out of the way, Kent wouldn’t be able to feel it unless Jack made an obvious move to press it against him. Maybe Kent could just come up with an excuse to check, to see if the head of his cock is peaking out from the scrunchy waist of the basketball shorts Jack’s wearing.

Before he gets the chance to look, Jack is nudging his side, telling him to turn over.

“I learned this new thing last time I saw my masseuse, but you gotta be on your back,” Jack explains. Of course Jack sees a masseuse. He’s always been good at mimicking, picking up skills just from watching others, so his deft fingers and hands make sense here.

Kent flips over, hoping his erection isn’t too obvious in his sweatpants. It’s probably a lost cause, honestly, so he just keeps his eyes closed and tries not to think about it too much.

Jack spreads his legs and pats the bed between them. Why is he giving Kent so much material to feed into wet dreams and masturbation sessions? What the heck?

Kent scoots up to lay in the spread of Jack’s legs as Jack’s hands meet his neck, cradling him gently. He starts smoothing his fingers along Kent’s neck, gently pushing upward into the flesh. And then Jack is cupping his head with one hand and pushing against his collarbone for resistance and pulling. His head pulls away and it’s almost like his head is floating, he’s not connected to his body anymore, and whether that’s the massage or just Jack’s presence is anybody’s guess.

Jack rests Kent’s head against the bed once more and starts scratching through his hair. It’s soft and Jack’s nails are the perfect length to get that scratch _just_ right. It turns into more massage, and thumbs and fingers are pressing behind his ears, rubbing circles and lines up to his temples. The headache he didn’t even know he had dissipates.

Jack pinches the bridge of his nose, gently thumbs his way across Kent’s eyebrows. His fingers slow down and get lighter, the touch just ghosting along his eyelids, his cheeks, his jaw.

Kent’s lips part in a gasp when Jack grazes over them, and suddenly Jack is pulling back, away from Kent, removing himself from touching Kent.

“Wait,” Kent cries out. “Jack, what’s going on?” He doesn’t want Jack to leave… no, he doesn’t want Jack to stop touching him. He sits up, heart pounding with anxiety at the sudden shift in activity.

Wordlessly, Jack gets his legs on top of Kent in a straddle and pushes him back down to the bed. He presses his hips into Kent, and _wow,_ it seems as though his predictions about what Jack did with his cock and where he put it are right. Wow.

Their foreheads knock, their noses knock, and Kent is expecting that their teeth might knock too if this ever gets to where he’s hoping it will.

“Kenny, please,” Jack says. He’s never been good at asking for what he wants, putting it into words.  
Luckily, Kent has a pretty good idea of what it is. So he leans in, and they kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr [here!](https://www.bittyybee.tumblr.com)


End file.
